


One Hour

by tropikailiesm



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Bickering, Complicated Relationships, Dirty Talk, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Feels, Long-Distance Relationship, OT12FEELS, POV Second Person, Pet Names, Romance, Teasing, having a celebrity boyfriend isnt easy peasy, it's so hard tagging Yifan as a part of EXO
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 21:25:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11859969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tropikailiesm/pseuds/tropikailiesm
Summary: Because one hour in an unholy time is unacceptable.(crossposted on AFF)





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Listen to Poison Ivory's "Lil' Piece of Heaven" as you read it!  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zvf1HhBiZnw

You were half-conscious when he came in.   

 

In your slumber, you felt like floating in an aquarium filled with cold jelly.  

All of your movements were heavy, all sounds and sensations came to you tardy and slow.  

 

You could hear the faint sound of the clock on your nightstand tick tacking too sluggish to be real. Behind it, you could hear the sound of the mild rain on your glass windows, and farther, like it was coming from the outside of your aquarium, even more dreamlike than the sound of the clock was his whisper, his gentle raspy whisper.  

 

“Wake up, baby girl"  

 

As he called your name, the syllables slipped in your ears as frictionless as skidding your finger in a moist glass: suave. 

Inside your aquarium, you felt a pang of happiness; you went to sleep the last days evoking his memory like a mantra, reminiscing his face, his gestures, his voice, hoping you could meet him at least in your sleep, even so, you used to wake up from dreamless nights feeling empty and cold. You hated yourself because all of your efforts were vain.  In those terms, you missed him, and you were happy that you could finally meet him.  

 

Your heart pounded fast from expectation, the beating echoing in the air and shaking the frail walls of your sleep. Some distant feeling told you that you were about to wake up... Fuck, no, you missed him so much. Why did you have to wake up just when you were about to see him? Why now? 

 

You tried to fight it but it was faster:  an odd wave of warmth, suddenly vanished the cold, a slow motion vacuum sucking your torpidity away in the form of Yifan’s much real fingers cupping your cheek.  

 

“Baby, wake up” his voice boomed loudly as the glass of your numbness split apart, and everything speeded up to the normal rhythm, disturbingly fast.  

 

You tried to stood up groggily, feeling heavy and disoriented just to bump on him lying beside you, trying to calm you down, wide-eyed.   

 

You screamed. 

 

"It's me, sweetheart, it's me"  

 

"The fuck are you doing here?" your voice was like shit, loud and raspy.  

 

He smiled abashedly. 

 

"Surprise"  

 

You felt like killing him with your bare hands. 

 

 

Since you’ve started dating him, it was the first time you’ve been apart for so long. He should be in Paris for 3 weeks now, shooting a movie. You couldn't imagine it would hurt so much being apart.  

 

But it wasn’t just the physical distance. You were so busy lately at work on the NGO that even if you wanted and he was free, you couldn’t spend time with him.   

What made you feel more angry and lonely was that Yifan barely had time to call or SMS after he started filming this new movie.  

 

3 weeks away. 6 days without a call. 3 days without a single message.  

 

You missed dearly those times in the end of the day when you used to chat with him, just speaking random shit, talking about your day and using stupid emoticons on each other like two cowboys used their guns.  

 

 Even those familiar moments were rare incidents now. You understood, though.  He was always tired from filming, the time zone was different, and he was sleeping the most he could to keep himself healthy while overworking.  Only understanding didn’t make anything easier and you couldn’t help but hate his job. You made a mental note to seek vengeance, like drawing some stupid thing over his face in one of his posters on the closest movie theater.   

 

You were still very confused and breathless before lying beside him again and slapping the shit out of him, and he laughed.  

 

“You should be in Paris.”  

 

“I wanted to do a surprise. Be surprised, not angry!”  

 

“Why didn’t you tell me? Damn it. You should call! I hate when you do things without warning!"  

 

"Quit the nagging, woman”   

 

He entangled your legs and hugged you, while he silenced you with a chaste but deep kiss. You were mad at him, and wanted to shut him down and kick him for scaring the shit out of you.  But you didn’t feel the soft gentleness of his lips for such a long time… 

 

“I missed you” he stated, looking in your eyes and you were too bewildered to control your mouth.  

 

“I missed you too, you moron.”  

 

"Are you alright? How many hours are you sleeping? You are not overdosing in chocolate milk, are you? The kids aren’t letting you exhausted?"   

 

 

You sighed.  

 

"Yes. I slept pretty well these past weeks, since you didn’t bother me with late night messages. No, I ran out of choco milk two days ago and didn’t buy it yet, and no, the kids are angels."  

 

He oh-ed  you and hugged your waist, but you slapped him away. He was waiting for it, so he just changed the subject.  

  

"When did you eat? Are you hungry? I’m hungry as fuck."  

 

"No, I’m not. I’m sleepy and furious. No-” he tried to kiss your cheek again, and you pushed him “don’t touch me, I’m fucking mad” 

 

He ignored your comment and planted another kiss on your cheek and you groaned.  

 

"You should be gentle and make some snack to us."  

 

“Do you wanna die?” 

 

“Don’t say such a nonsense. Do you think I came from Paris to Beijing just to die in your evil hands? So, make us food, pretty please?"  

 

You kicked him. 

 

"The physical appearance of the please doesn’t matter, no still means no. I’ll not make you food at two in the morning, after you almost killed me"  

 

You looked at him with a grimace, and it was enough for him to come back to reality. You can’t cook, even if it’s a matter of surviving, let alone 2 in the morning, almost asleep and mad.  He got up.  

 

"You’re the worst girl in the world."  

 

"You wake me in the middle of the night, scare the shit out of me, ask me to make you food and I am the bad one?” 

 

He sighed defeated. 

 

"Okay, I’ll ask some take out junk."  

  

The pizza arrived 20 minutes later, and it gave you time to wash your face and be properly recover from you near-death experience, and gave you time to wake up for good. You didn't mind changing your silly Tweety and Sylvester’s pink pajamas. He knew it was your favorite – and he loved Tweety.  

Plus, you surely would convince him to sleep after eating, anyways. You guys ate it sitting on the ground, you harassing him about how you would rip out his hair if your carpet smelled like basil later. You laughed at his lame jokes, his weird way of eating, his gummy smile, and he realized how much he missed your voice, your expressive brows, your pouting, touching you without your permission. All the time the words “I’m happy to have you back” were hanging in your mouth, but you didn’t say them, although Yifan could see it in your eyes. 

 

 You were finishing cleaning the mess after eating when his phone rang. He excused himself and fished it in the small travel bag over the couch before your bed. Yifan took a look on the caller and he was all-serious out of the blue. 

 

“Oh, Kevin. Sup, what happened?” 

 

You saw the frown on his brows deepen as you sat on your knees in the middle of your bed, waiting. 

 

 “What? No! No, don’t fuck with me, man. We agreed on 5. 5 hours, man. It’s not even one and a half. Look, we still have time! My hair and make up is done in 1 hour. We’ll spend 45 minutes flying... no, it's not right. Look, pass the phone to Wenqian.” He racked his fingers in his hair and sat on your couch, tapping his feet.  

  

You let your mind wander while YF argued with the Wenqian guy over something about work. He was all up to business, his tone was grave as he spoke in Chinese. You just understood some lines with your basic Chinese, because he was talking mercilessly fast and angry. He was calculating work hours, flight time and time zones, obtaining accurate results just with his head. Such an accomplishment, you felt envious. 

 

You sat there, watching him work, feeling slightly left behind… again.  

 

You were so different from each other, and lived such different lives. He looked so grown up, so ambitious. So… far. 

 

 You asked yourself if someday you would put up your shit together like him.  

Oh, gosh, who were you trying to fool? You would never be venturesome as him. Like, ever.  

Some of your friends and family badmouthed you for your lack of ambition, but you couldn't care less. What’s the point of living in a rush? Life is more than your realizations. Whatsoever, in times like this you asked yourself what you were doing with a guy like him. Or else, what he was doing with a girl like you. 

 

Beyond being a complicated person, you wanted a future completely different from his.  

 

You fancied a simple lifestyle. You spent most of your sabbatical year before defending your master’s thesis making some money with translations in your house, instead of developing your career and working on your degree’s specialty. You were volunteering at the NGO with the orphans almost every day in your free time, while he was travelling the world, appearing in magazines and fancy parties, being a world star. What was he doing with a girl like you, plain, simple, without big plans? The question throbbed in your head like an emergency sign. 

 

You didn’t move at all even after he finished the call. The silence was deadly. 

 

You just kept looking at him still holding his phone and gazing at it, sitting open legged and looking serious as fuck. He looked like he received some bad news; the aura surrounding him was somewhat scaring, somewhat dangerous, and somewhat enticing. You couldn’t choose just one. He lifted his eyes to you, and called you with a hand move. 

 

“guòlái, bǎobèi” 

 

You shook your head lightly. You didn’t know why, but you were scared of him. He didn’t use Chinese on you ordinarily. You felt distant from him, strange.  Why was he still there?  

 

Yifan realized you wouldn't come. 

  

He only had to stretch his arm in order to take you by the wrist, and pull you out of the bed.  

His tug was gentle. The well-known strength put you at easy as you breathed his scent in, so strong, familiar, so intimate. He guided you to straddle on his legs. They were so long that you could fit in and support each of your hands on the top his tights.  

 

Yifan took your face inside his hands, pushing your hair out of your face, watching your irises shining like two little black jewels. You read in his eyes: he had something bad to tell you. Yifan was measuring his words, as one would do when giving bad news to a kid  (actually, he really looked older in the dim light of the room, you realized). While he was holding your face, his stern eyes wandered over it intently.  He knew every line, scent, taste and texture by heart.  

 

The hair in your nape rose up under his contemplation, but you couldn’t back away. All his moves were fluid and sure, so you watched him touch you, entranced.  

The air was suffocatingly solid, thickening and being cut by his razor like gaze.   

 

He cupped your chin and fixed a strand of your hair behind your ear. Those fingers slipped past your neck to your soft collarbone and back again to your neck, then to your lips. He straightened his back to approach your upper halves, making the muscles of his thighs contract under your own legs and palms. Your nails digs on his thighs involuntarily, as you imagined how it would be to feel it against your bare skin, without his jeans, without your pajamas.  

 

The bite on your lips wasn’t enough to control your own racing mind.   

 

Yifan brought his nose to your chin and caressed it like a cat. Your breath was caught in your lungs when he nuzzled his face over yours, brushing your noses, kissing your cheek and jaw, touching your ear and neck.  

  

He buried his right hand behind your nape, tangling his long fingers in your hair and pulling you in a blow. He sucked on your lip – your stomach knotted uncontrollably, making you squirm, and his other hand wrapped against your waist. His nails grazed your scalp and he tugged gently on your hair, the overwhelming sensation making you gasp; you broke the kiss and pushed yourself out of his arms, realizing you barely breathed since you sat on his lap. 

  

Damn it, your legs were shaking as you rushed away. 

 

"Hey, you” he called your name hoarsely, but you were behind the bed already, feeling like all your defenses were down with just his gaze and thinking how unfair it was. Your heart was racing and your lungs aching for the second time this night. How could he mess up your shit that much, coming out of the motherfucking blue? He could fuck himself, you wouldn’t get any closer to him again anymore. 

 

 “Baby girl… I’ll have to go back to the airport in one hour. Kevin is waiting for me in a private jet; we’ll fly to Qingdao to shoot a variety show.” 

 

His voice was sad, and the warmth that broke your numbness early, was gone.  

 

“After this I need to go back to Paris… the movie is belated.”   

 

He paused and sighed. You felt every little thing in the world slow down again as you heard his words. 

 

 “I’ll need to stay there for a month.” 


	2. Chapter 2

You felt again, the same disorienting sensation of waking up against your will from a good dream you waited dearly for. The same horrible feeling of reality’s cruelty snapping at your face.   
   
You didn’t turn back to him, appalled. His words made all the fresh-bloomed sensations on your chest rot and die.   
   
 “What?? A fucking month? What the actual fuck are you saying? Why’d you come here at this hour in the first place?”   
   
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t planning things this way, I… I would spend the night with you and then go. But the airport protocols are fucking everything up, I’m so, so sorry baby”   
   
It must be a joke, you thought.   
   
It’s like he offered a cookie to you, a warm and flavored one, just to take it out of your mouth. You knew it wasn’t his fault. It was his job, and you would never ever in your life put yourself between him and his job. But it hurts. It fucking hurts.   
   
“Why’d you come here, then, Yifan? Just to torture us?”   
   
 “It was Kevin on the phone dropping the news. It really wasn’t on my plans leaving like this”   
   
“No, you would spent some hours here, to make everything worse before leaving-”   
   
No, fuck this. Fuck him. You interrupted yourself. You would not be a captive of his ministrations.  You were vulnerable enough. You were exposed enough, messed up enough. No way you would show him how much you wanted him to stay, how much the distance killed you, how much you missed his touch, his scent, his everything.  No bloody way.   
   
You controlled the bubbling emotions that blossomed in your heart, like hiding a whole sea typhoon inside a tiny clam. Your jaw was so tightly locked you felt the joints cracking. You exhaled a breath and turned to him, moving your head slowly.   
   
"It's okay, I understand. Go."    
   
It sounded like sarcasm but you said it wholeheartedly. As much as you wanted to kill him for it, you didn’t want to complicate things for him. You saw that he was just as upset as you were. But what else could you both do? Just accept it. You needed to be the tough one. You didn’t want to mess his life anymore. You lied like a professional, as if it was nothing, as if you couldn’t feel anything, but Yifan was a master of you. He saw the sore red tidal wrecking your mind under the void of emotions in your voice.   
   
“Baby girl, don’t be like this. We still have one hour-"    
   
You backed away from his pleading tone as if it had tentacles trying to touch you. He realized he couldn’t talk you out of anger just by your attitude.    
   
"Look, I don't want it anymore, okay? I don't want to do things this way. I don’t want a fucking hour. Go away."    
   
He looked at you with sad and tired eyes. The guilty was like fireworks cracking inside your already crowded chest, tinging every other thought and feeling with its colors. You hated yourself for being so selfish, but you couldn’t help. You needed him as you never needed anyone before and it put you out of your own grasp.   
   
“Don’t act like this, __________”   
   
Your eyes teared up as he ruthlessly punched your armor, each syllable of your full name sounding like a bruise on his lips and heart. You turn your back to him again, unable to face him.    
   
"You shouldn't have come here for just one thing. I will only handicap your schedule. Go to the airport now, and rest."   
   
His voice sounded closer and harsher as he stood up from the couch.   
   
"There is no way I'll spend the last hour I have with you for the next 4 weeks arguing. Are you mad at me? I suggest you find another way to relieve your anger”   
   
As you turned to argue back, he moved.    
   
Yifan had those movement explosions sometimes. He was completely still and then, in a blink of an eye he was moving swiftly as a snake.   
   
He was such a gangling dork most of the time, so you felt like dealing with another person every time he did this. His muscles still remembered basketball's golden days, when all his moves had an intention.     
   
He crossed the room in one fucking step. Before you could react, he rudely crashed his lips on yours and it was like a ball of tension exploding between you both simultaneously.    
   
You fought against the kiss, against his strong embrace. His smell was invading your nostrils and making you angrier and dizzy. How could he be this much?    
   
You punched his chest with your tiny hands, you dug your nails on his shoulders, trying to get free, but he locked you in his arms until you were worn out from the fighting.   
You bite on his lips harshly and felt the iron on your tongue. He hissed and released your mouth, but he still hugged you tightly, pressing your head against his shoulder.    
   
“Please let’s not fight… I missed you so much”   
   
You realized you were staining his shirt with your salty, stupid, weak tears. Screw PMS, you were tougher than this. He soothed your back gently, and you felt even angrier at him, but much at yourself.    
   
Don’t be good. Please don’t be good to me, I’m a selfish bitch. You spent the hours you should be resting on a calm hotel coming to my house, to deal with my messed up shit, and I’m still being more difficult. Don’t be so good, I’m a bad girl. I don’t deserve it.   
   
These were the words you tried to say to him, but you couldn’t. He heard you sniffing, and backed away trying to look at your face, but you hide it in his chest even deeper and wrapped your own arms around his waist.    
   
   
He started to walk, forcing you to walk backwards if you wanted to continue with your face buried on his chest (what you wanted). He walked till your knees stumbled on the bed and he tried to unwrap your arms off his waist to look at you.   
   
“Let go of me for a sec, damn it” He said in a playful but quiet tone and you shook your head, “Stop being incoherent. First you say you want me to go then you don’t want to let me go anymore”   
   
You whined. Your mouth formed the words “I don’t want you to go”, but no sound came out.   
He was stronger. It was an easy task freeing himself and making you sit down on the bed. He kneeled down in front of you, his eyes leveling with yours perfectly. You looked at him with teary eyes, and then you saw his lips tinged with blood and felt terrible.   
   
“I fucking cut your lip…” You buried your face in your hand, but he peeled it away and locked your wrists on your lap with his own hand, and used the other to cup your chin.   
   
You couldn’t be more embarrassed, so you kept your eyes closed. He looked like you, when you were having disciplinary conversations with the kids on the orphanage.    
   
“You hurt me in far more painful ways, __________”   
   
“You deserve it. I’m just paying back what you do to me”   
   
“What do I do that hurts you? Loving you with all my heart? Thinking about you all the time, even if I know you’re not doing the same? Spoil you to death? Act like a puppy after you? Is that what hurts you?”   
   
You felt like saying ‘YES!’ but you shook your head and raised your voice instead.   
   
“Shut up and get lost, dumb!”   
   
He chuckled darkly and thumbed your chubby cheek.   
   
“I’m not going anywhere, we still have one hour…”   
   
He said, and with your eyes closed, you couldn’t see it coming – the kiss in your left eye that drank your tears.    
   
“…because I know…”    
   
The right eye.   
   
 “…exactly where you want me…”   
   
On your jaw, teasing tone.   
   
“…But you’re being a bratty child…”   
   
 On your chin, lower voice.   
   
   
   
“…So I’ll treat you like one”   
   
Full on your lips.    
   
 It was scaring and annoying to know that he knew you so well he could see you hurting behind your cruel words and complex mind games. But above everything, it was relieving. He was still there, even if you felt like you didn’t deserve him.   
   
In the middle of the kiss you wanted to free your hands, to touch him, but he didn’t let go of it, just growling a bossy “quiet” when you tried too forcefully.    
   
His hand cupping your cheek traveled to your neck, to the roots of your hair and yanked it, raising your chin and making you open your mouth slightly. He bit down on your lower lip, emulating your early assault. He dragged it with his teeth, sucking and licking the light damage he left.   
   
“Quiet”   
   
He nipped at your jaw and neck, bruising his way down to your collarbones. The stinging sensation of his bites, combined with this long fingers crawling over your spine left you dizzy from lack of blood in your brain because your heart was pumping all to the south. Yifan’s fingers sneaked under your shirt like scalding water, wandering in the small of your back as your breath quickens.    
   
 You were too trashed by his warm breath against your skin to follow the path of his hand, but you felt that coming.   
   
Up, up, down, down, down, squeeze. A moan (and smile against the crook of your neck in return).    
   
“Fuck-” you would complete with the appropriate ‘you’, but he was kissing you again, ever so tough.   
   
He let go of your wrists, and guided your hands to his shoulders. He caressed your sides, squeezing you, relinquished in just feel you. You didn’t have any idea of what exactly it was doing to your body, until Yifan caressed your pajama cladded legs, opening and positioning himself between them – suddenly pulling you against his chest, so your bodies were fully connected and he was clutching you in his long arms.    
   
His hand crept under your soft thighs once more and he used it as leverage to hail you over the bed and lay you down on the mattress, pinned under his body.    
   
“I really missed you” he said and pressed his hips against yours, letting you feel how hardly he missed you.   
   
 He had a special way of kissing you, like the light of glowing coal, speeding up and slowing down rhythmically, pulsing in the beat of your response, and by now it was alive in his hands touching your breasts in the occasional snap of his hips.   
   
 “Be quiet, baby girl” he said on your lips.   
   
He stood between your legs, and started to take off your clothes. Time was running fast, but Yifan was not one to rush anything. Every expanse of skin was offered up like a sacrifice. He lush it with those blackened eyes as if storing down a survival supply to withstand the next 4 weeks. You watched carefully the adoration and lust expression in his eyes. What he was seeing to waken this side on him?  The answer was unimportant as long as he started to drop kisses and nuzzle his nose between the valley of your breasts and your navel, easing your bottoms in the process.   
You were quiet – because what the hell could you do when he was squeezing your flesh and abusing all your weakest points so lowly? Your train of thought was interrupted by his bite on your hip. You choked on a indignant whimper, all the hair in your body threatening to jump out of your skin because of the shiver.    
   
“I told you to be still, not mute. I want to hear your voice”   
   
He straightened his back, hovering over you, taller as ever, still glaring at you when he started do unbutton his shirt without a motherfucking bead of shame.   
   
Fuck buttoned-up shirts. Fuck whoever created them. You wanted to explode all the places designing, producing and selling those damned things, because you were worked up enough and couldn’t take your eyes off him, even if the smile growing on his lips threatened to pick on you for the rest of your life – starting right now.     
   
"Like what you see?"    
   
You huffed indignantly. Somehow, you found your long lost rhetoric in your lust-hazed mind.    
   
"You almost bore a hole in me with your eyes, I have rights, too."   
   
He smirked as his fingers worked faster. Damn those buttons, your eyes never burned that way before, he needed to get rid of it NOW. One of his brows was up, the sign that sarcasm was on.   
   
“Oh, you kitty found your voice?” He was too impatient so the last two buttons flew over the room when he pulled the fabric harshly and throw it away “I hope you put it on a good use. It’ll give me something to think about when I’m feeling lonesome tomorrow”   
   
You were sure your face was bout to explode from embarrassment. You were awkward with those talks, and he was doing it just to provoke you, that lame boyfriend of yours.   
   
“Cut the crap, Wu Yifan” and against all the odds you pulled him in by his fancy belt.   
   
You were not the kind of clothes-flying-everywhere sex (even though to your dismay, you found out later that YF’s pants landed on your lampshade and it cracked the china?). Love making is connection, not just rush and panting. But this time it came out unexpectedly, hard, painful. You both had one hour to pay for 3 weeks of longing and a month of sorrow.    
   
One month without his voice whispering by your ear that he would love your mouth around his cock, but he won’t give you this treat just to punish you.     
One month without his demanding touch, guiding your hand to undo his pants and palm his raging boner, wanting to be pleasured.    
One month without ‘Don't make this face, babe, you know it’ll fit perfectly’.    
   
When he finally entered you (30 minutes to the farewell, after endless torture, with throaty moan, head falling back and slacked jaw), he was in the peak of surrender. So yielding to you, your frail boy, chest opened to be wounded, vulnerable. Seeking revenge from your wickedness, your rude boy, snapping his hips too slowly just to torment you. You were the control’ freak. You were the one always playing tough, being mean.    
But when it comes to those moments, you were clay in his hands.    
   
   
“On your knees”, he said.   
He provoked you for the last time that night. You looked at the clock on your nightstand, feeling him teasing your entrance, and nipping at your ear. 11 minutes.   
“How do you want it?”   
“You know how I want it”   
He thrusted shallowly, knocking the breath out of your lungs.   
“It’s nearly a month away, babe, maybe I forgot”    
You supported yourself on one arm and entangled the other one on his hair, spilling the words in his mouth.    
“Make this worth another whole month.”    
It was never so good before.   
   
   
   
   
*.*.*   
   
   
He was 30 minutes late; His phone ranged but you two couldn’t hear it behind your own sounds. After some time, Kevin seemed to give up. Maybe the jet was long gone now (you were rooting for it). Yifan promised he would stay with you until you fall asleep.    
You were dozing too fast, drained. He never was so rough like that before. You still felt his fingers clawing your hips and his bites in your mouth. You faced him, blinking faster, fighting against the sleep. Two hours ago you didn’t want to wake up to his voice calling you. Now, all you wanted was his voice keeping you awake. You rubbed your cheeks on his chest and wrapped your naked legs on his.    
“Kris, tell me a lie” 

“What?” 

“Tell me you’ll be here when I wake up” 

He sighed and you relied on the movement of his chest. 

“I’m not going to lie to you, __________” 

“Then I’ll never sleep and you’ll never go. It’s a win-win to me, and you’re fucked up” 

“I’m going to promise you a thing, but I’m not going to lie to you” 

“What is your promise?” 

“I’ll be with you every day, somehow” 

“Pinkie promise?” 

“Pinkie promise” 

You slept with your pinkies and legs intertwined.   
    
   
**   
   
It was 8 in the morning and someone was knocking at your door and ringing your doorbell.

To. The. Point. Of. Madness.  

You yelled some cursing words to the motherfucker by the door – your PMS, lack of sleep, celebrity boyfriend and sore body all messing up your hormones at once. You got up still wrapped on your quilt, because who the hell was on your door at such ungodly hour deserved the embarrassment of facing a furious shortstuff only covered by a Minion bedspread.  

“WHAT!” you yelled and opened the door to find a great amount of nothing.

You looked to your left and right and was stepping out of the apartment when you saw it, over your WELCOME rug: a single chocolate milk box, with a yellow post it on it.   
“Day 1” 

On the next day, it comes a new one, sharp 8 in the morning. 

And the next day.

And the next.  

And the next.  

Day 30, there was a different note: 

“Wait for tomorrow” 

In the day 31, you were ready before the doorbell rings.  

You jumped off your bed, and rushed to the door as soon as the doorbell started to ring.  

You breathe deeply preparing yourself psychologically. Three movements: open the door. Hastily take a box of deliciously cold chocolate milk off the hands of a smiling Yifan. Shut the door on his face. 

He was paralyzed until you opened your door again, playing with the straw between your teeth. 

“Tomorrow I want Doritos too, okay?”  

And closed it again. 

(Of course, after 2 minutes of his whining you gave up and let him enter, but just because you really wanted that Doritos)   
   
   
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an hella old piece I did to a dear friend.  
> We used to write stories to each other, and now I see how I was mean to her, this is way too much heavy for a gift.  
> But I like it, and I wish I could find inspiration to write like this again.  
> Sorry any typos or grammar flaws. If you spot some, please notify me! <3


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